Nightfall
by labyrinths
Summary: Future Savannah Weaver meets John Connor again.
1. Chapter 1

**Nightfall**

**by Hedge Labyrinth**

Hair like a flame, bright against the grey sky. She stands very still, all leather and black and she waits. He'll be here soon.

Hands in her pockets. No guns. Such a sight, to see a young woman unarmed these days of metal and blood. And yet she is not unarmed, for there's John Henry with her. There's also the clever, toxic pin holding that pretty hair up, and the trio of dogs at her feet: bio-mechanical, of course.

The dogs sniff the air. She taps her glasses and magnifies the figures. They look like orange and yellow specs with the thermal scanner on.

The figures glow brighter and bigger until she takes the glasses off. The sky is so dark now she can barely make out a face. She sees creases at the eyes, a hard mouth set on an even harder face. It comes as a bit of a shock to discover he is not the teenager she recalls. Living with John Henry and the others has spoiled her. Machines do not age. He is much older than in her memory, not the thin boy who saved her life once, long ago, but a tall man in a dusty uniform.

Her hand is wrapped around a heavy chain. The dogs at her feet have opened their eyes, bright red and menacing. She twists her hand in a certain way, a certain gesture, and they close their eyes once more. They lay as still as stone.

She waits for him to approach her. But he has also become stone, weathered and immobile. She cranes her neck towards her companion.

"Please stay," she says.

She walks down the hill and meets him there. No guardians of any sort at her side, and yet she knows John Henry remains a few metres behind, overseeing, overhearing everything. Connor has his own shadow, a mechanical companion standing in the dark. Other people might not have seen it. It is a clever thing, hiding where it does. She sees, even without the scopes. She's been around machines since she was a child. She ought to be able to recognize one, even blindfolded.

"John Connor," she says lightly.

He is not looking at her. He is gazing beyond her and she knows he sees the tall walls of the city, the metallic sheen of buildings and the lights blooming in the dusk. She knows he is looking at the world they have fashioned and trying to find its weaknesses, the point at which he might strike and reduce it to rubble. Strategizing. Planning.

"Savannah," he mutters.

"Welcome to Xanadu. Will you walk with me?"

At last his eyes focus on her, seeing her for the first time. She thinks he is going to shoot her. Her hand almost darts to the poisoned pin. She must drive it through his arm before he can reach towards his gun. Fast. Like she's been taught.

She finds the courage to steady her nerves and stretches out her hand towards him.

The look on his face does not change. It's still sharp and menacing. Nevertheless, he clasps her hand firmly.

"Of course," he says.

She takes his arm, as though he were a friend instead of a dangerous stranger and they walk together. Xanadu glimmers in the dark. Night has fallen.


	2. Chapter 2

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea

_Kubla Khan; or, A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

* * *

She wears a white dress buttoned up to her throat. It matches the peacocks in the aviary.

That's why he hates her.

She has not had to endure the suffering real people – people like himself, like his mother and the others – have had to endure. No. She has grown here, under thick glass and metal, with plants climbing up the walls.

The air is thick with the smell of flowers. It makes him nauseous. He's used to the smell of blood, dirt and sweat. The stench of death coming from a corpse laden with flies is more comforting than the perfume wafting through the large chamber.

"Today, we can talk, I hope."

"There's time enough for conversation after dinner."

"My men are waiting for me."

She only nods.

He hates her for her polite silences. She does not get to the point, walking quietly at his side, her cold eyes looking at the vines and the sky.

Her coldness is not the detached lack of sympathy of a machine. He ought to know, having spent so much time around Cameron in his youth. No. It's the polite and distant air of a superior. An aristocrat's gaze.

Her dress is ridiculous, Victorian in its cut with long sleeves and a skirt that rustles against the floor.

It's his second day in Xanadu and he can't stand the place, can't stand her, can't stand the sickly beauty they both exude.

And yet he is fascinated by it. Who wouldn't? It's a proper city instead of stinking sewers. Not only a city: a vision. It reminds him of an illustrated book he saw as a child. _One Thousand and One Nights_.

He wonder if she plays Scheherazade for the machines, spilling fairy tales to keep herself alive like some grotesque version of a cherished pet.

"Where is Cromartie?" he asks.

"John Henry is here."

"I haven't seen him."

"John Henry interacts with us in different ways. He is with us right now, seeing the city through a thousand camera eyes. Interfacing with our computers. But if you are speaking about the specific avatar physically modeled after George Laszlo, he will meet with us tonight."

"The avatar," he mutters.

"Oh, John Henry only dons that specific avatar to make me happy. He is much more content to exist as an extension of Xanadu than to manifest in a physical body. But he will be with us tonight."

_This,_ he thought, _is what happens when you are raised by machines_. _You become this_ _idiot spouting nonsensical sentences._

Then again, some might say he is not so different from her.

A yellow butterfly settles on her hair. Red hair. It reminds him autumn but there's no autumn outside. Only skeletal trees scratching the clouds.

"Do not be upset," she says.

"What, you got some detector to measure emotional reactions? Fluctuation of heartbeats? Perspiration? That sort of thing?"

Her hair, now that she stands near a coloured window pane, is like a contrasting flame.

"You haven't smiled a single time," she says.

There's something so absurd about her words it makes him laugh. He hasn't laughed in ages and it frightens him.

The butterfly rests on his sleeve before flying away.


	3. Chapter 3

The butterfly the ancient Grecians made  
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--  
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade  
Of mortal life !--For in this earthly frame  
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,  
Manifold motions making little speed,  
And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.

_Psyche by Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

* * *

He turns brusquely and heads towards the exit with sure, heavy steps. One of the peacocks lets out a cry. It reminds him of the wailing of a child beneath the rubble.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"Back to my quarters, if I may. I've had enough bird watching for now."

"You've barely seen anything."

"I've seen enough."

"Wouldn't you like to walk around more? Do you not think it is beautiful?"

He keeps his gaze firmly planted on the exit, avoiding her eyes.

"I thought ..."

He stops and turns to look at her. There is such anger in his face, in his voice that it might make the hardest soldier recoil. His fury is deep and strong. When unleashed, the lacerations he inflicts are deadly. He depends on this anger, on this hate, and now he clutches it firmly, like a shield.

"You are a traitor. You and all the humans huddling in this little palace of make believe. Everything in this god damn place is a lie and an affront to humanity. There is nothing beautiful about it, so don't ask me to lay back, sip some tea and relax while men and women are dying out there, crushed by the machines you love so much."

"You have machines too. You brought a machine as your bodyguard," she countered.

"Repurposed. Reprogrammed. They got no more brains than a tin can."

"Debatable."

"Your mother," he said, savouring the words, "was murdered by one of those things, and yet here you are, cavorting with them."

Her face is so very pale. It resembles an ivory carving and she is a madonna, a temple virgin at the altar of a demonic, silver-limbed god.

"Your father was also killed, and yet there was that android you kept, Cameron."

"I was a child. I did not understand many things. Now I seek to survive, and to destroy the machines."

"Slaughtering our fellow creatures gradually destroys the sense of compassion, which is the finest sentiment of which our human nature is capable," she said solemnly. "Thomas More said so."

"Sorry. I haven't kept up my reading. There aren't very many books in an underground bunker."

"You think I am an exception. That is why you are angry," she said. "You think I was favoured by John Henry and the others, and awarded a place of privilege that was denied to most humans."

He does not answer, but her words needle his skin. Is he that simple to discern? Or is she more sorceress than priestess, a witch inside her golden palace.

"You are thinking it is unfair. Why couldn't it have been someone else that was saved? Why not one of the children living in your tunnels? Why not Riley?"

Riley.

Oh, he's long forgotten the shape of her face, the colour of her eyes. But he has not forgotten the first coquettish kiss she gave him, upon the corner of his lips, nor the sound of her voice. In the dark, in the tunnels he has looked for her more than once, thinking he might find her and save her from her fate. And then he has thought what would happen if he met her and Riley -- never knowing him, having never met him -- what she might think about the tired man staring at her.

But he's never found her, never saved her and if John must be truthful he will admit he's saved no one. He is an empty god, a false idol.

He strikes quick and strong, pins Savannah against the wall as if she were a butterfly and holds her jaw in his left hand. He wants to bruise her, kill her and she must know it. He feels she knows it and she winces, but after a second she also looks back at him. There's something elusive and sharp in her gaze .

He stumbles back and rubs his wrist as though she is the one who has hurt him, and not him.

They are quiet, until her voice rises like incense before an altar.

"It is unfair, John Connor. But you were also favoured by fate. I am no ordinary woman. You are no ordinary man. We reflect each other."

"Is that why they sent you to deal with me?"

Savannah brushes back a strand of red hair behind her ear.

"No. It was because I asked to speak to you."

"Why would you do that?" he asks, puzzled.

"I remembered you. You were kind, once."

The words sound leaden and heavy to his ears.

"Tit for that, John Connor," she says. "Why did you come instead of sending one of your men?"

"I remembered you too," he mutters, gruffly.


	4. Chapter 4

I was angry with my friend;  
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  
I was angry with my foe:  
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

By William Blake

* * *

The chamber is warm for the dress she wears. Humid, hot. It is necessary to allow the plants to grow; the butterflies to thrive. She might have picked another outfit, but Savannah believes in the necessity of a certain sense of order and formality. Perhaps it comes from growing up under the tutelage of John Henry and the other machines.

In any case, the heat is bearable. She can blur it away without too much trouble. Just as she can blur the fear. John Connor need to know he intimidates her as he stands tall and lean in crushing black. Not even after he pushes her against the wall. No. She is able to speak clearly.

And then he confuses her.

"I remembered you too," he says.

_Ah,_ she wonders. _Do you?_ _Did you grow up like me, curious about what our roles would be?_ _We are the children of prophecy. But what prophecy? What outcome? I've waited for you my entire life. _

She does not want to think such things. Savannah closes her eyes, just for a moment, to steady herself.

"How do you know about Riley?"

The question makes her open her eyes again. He's moved back a few steps and is standing in a pool of light. The lines on his face are washed away for a moment, some optical trick, as though he were younger for a few seconds.

"You posted a reward for a girl with that name."

"You spy on me," he says.

"It's the kind of thing that draws our attention," she says. "John Connor is important to us."

"Yes. John Connor is important to everyone."

Savannah shrugs. He steps forward and the light washes away. He is under the shadow of one of the trees and he looks like the older John.

"You think you are very smart," he says.

She is, if you go by IQ tests. But it is a rhetorical question, so she does not bother answering. She merely looks at him.

"Very brave," he continues. " Very strong."

"Your point?"

"What game are you trying to play?" he whispers.

"Survival," she says.

"Of the machines?" he says with a mocking smile. "I think they're thriving. They don't need your help."

"There are nearly 300 humans in Xanadu."

"Traitors, all of them."

"You are mistaken."

"The mistake," he mutters, "was in coming."

He turns to leave and she realizes, a wave of panic finally hitting her, that he intends to walk out. He really does. This is not bluff, like it was a few minutes ago. She can not let him. Savannah lifts the long, trailing skirt and dashes in front of him. She extends both arms, presses her hands against his chest.

"Don't, please," she whispers. "You must speak to John Henry, you _must_."

It's so very odd to touch a human being. She has grown used to the pretty, genetically modified dogs and the comforting feel of metal. It's so very strange to feel a purely organic heart beating beneath her palm.

"Then take me to him now," he says.

"Tonight," she promises.

"Why?"

A lie will not hold him. She tries the truth, hoping it will be enough. "He is ill. He can not speak to you now."

"How is a machine ill?"

"He just is. Please, do not go."

John frowns. He is angry. He is tired. He distrusts her. Nevertheless, he nods.

"Fine. I'll wait. Until tonight."

"Thank you," she says.

Her hands, she realizes, are still resting against his chest. She slides them away.

The chamber is warm and green, lit with the fluttering of butterflies. For the first time the white dress with its tiny pearl buttons running up her back seems too hot for comfort.

"Denkmal," she says, calling for the dog that has been playing among the flowers, never chasing the peacocks in their tiny piece of shared jungle.

The Doberman comes, obedient and silent to her side. She kneels next to it and kisses its head. She looks up at John and wonders if he realizes she could have yelled and the dog would have stopped him in his tracks. And if she had yelled before, when he pushed her back, it could have torn his neck.

And he looks at her and Savannah thinks he knows.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Always without desire we must be found,  
If its deep mystery we would sound;  
But if desire always within us be,  
Its outer fringe is all that we shall see. _

Tao Te Ching

* * *

Handel plays, lush and strong, in the background. It sweeps Savannah through the dining room which has been set with fine cut glass and an impeccable, white tablecloth. She has changed into a crimson dress, revealing her neck and arms. She pauses in front of one of the full length mirrors. It reflects baroque ornaments and freshly cut flowers, and herself. Savannah seldom peers into these mirrors, but today she leans forward, as if to touch her reflection.

"You are 27 minutes early," John Henry says from across the room.

He smiles at her. He's never quite gotten the trick of smiles and it comes out forced, wrinkled at the edges. Nevertheless, she appreciates the gesture.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"I am performing well. If you are here early, Savannah, it must mean you wish to speak to me," he says without pause, so that it comes out almost as one sentence. "Please, detail your concerns."

She fears John Connor is going to kill him. She doesn't know how John would do it, but she wagers he's got a weapon on him. Something they missed when entering Xanadu. She doesn't go anywhere unarmed – poisonous pins or dogs or both keep her safe – and he wouldn't do it either. But what is the weapon and where has he hidden it?

_The bodyguard is the weapon_, she thinks.

The thought shocks her. She does not consider androids as weapons. It is the first time she has equated an artificial life form with a gun or a blade.

"This might have been a bad idea."

"Reasons?"

"I do not think one can reason with his kind."

"You mean with humans?"

Savannah nods. John Henry smiles again.

"But you are human."

She frowns, crosses her arms. "I mean a human from outside."

"There is no great difference between you and John. You are both composed of the same basic elements, share a species."

"I am afraid."

"Of what?"

She can not say. John Henry watches her very carefully and nods.

"You had the same look when you were a child and you thought there was a monster under your bed. But I looked there and there was nothing. Do you recall?"

"I wish I hadn't seen him," she says.

She has wondered about John Connor. What he is. There is the memory of a kind, sweet boy. The reports of a hardened man. Hero or villain. She isn't sure what he is supposed to be to her, or to Xanadu.

"After you demanded to serve as my envoy?"

"He wouldn't have spoken to an android. He would have never ... I had to talk to him. I don't think it did much good, but it had to be me."

"Then you shouldn't regret your meeting."

Savannah looks at the floor. She feels her equilibrium fading, an unthinkable idea. It is John's fault. He's brought chaos into Xanadu. It upsets her, makes her nervous, fearful and weak. She does not allow herself weakness. It is a terrible habit.

_Fear is a child's game_, she thinks. _There are no monsters under the bed_.

"He may try to kill you," she says, which is blunt and coarse of her, and she instantly regrets her choice of words. She should behave with more grace than that.

"Is that what frightens you? John Connor will not terminate me."

What frightens her is loneliness. The thought of herself without John Henry. She does not wish to be an eternal orphan.

_But he will die. He'll die anyway._

Savannah leans against the back of a chair and stares at the lilies swimming in a long, white vase. She wants to fling the vase against the wall and watch trails of water make patterns against the floor. But she does not.

Equilibrium. Balanced, like a performer walking on a tightrope.

They do not speak. John Henry raises his head.

"John Connor," he says.

He's arrived. Savannah spins around and nods at him. The android is behind John Connor. Up close she can see it is an older model. It looks highly artificial, plastic skin, patched up from different bits and pieces. It reminds her of a large doll or a mannequin.

"Join us," John Henry says.

Savannah sits down. She continues to look at the android, which has stepped back and stands behind John. Their own machines of gleaming chrome reflect the candles, the faces of their guest, as they bring out several dishes.

"Wine?" John Henry asks.

It's Mozart now. His piano Concerto No. 21 punctuates the movement of the androids.

"Wine," John Connor laughs. "I haven't had wine in years. I don't remember what it tastes like."

Savannah lifts her glass and he looks at her through faceted crystal.

"You have very nice things here. Plants, animals, wine. Even a pretty human pet. What am I saying? Beautiful. She's beautiful. Specially nowadays. You can't meet a girl like that in the tunnels, I'll tell you. There's places where they'll sell you a woman. A cow's more expensive that a human. And, anyhow, they'll put a woman on a platform and they'll sell her to you."

He sounds drunk. It's impossible. He's very barely had a sip. Perhaps he is intoxicated with his own anger.

Savannah lowers her glass.

"That's how they found Allison. She was for sale."

"Who is Allison?" John Henry asks, very politely.

"Kyle's girlfriend," he says and he shakes his head and grins, but there's no joy in the smile. "Anyhow, your girl here, Savannah, she's very, very beautiful."

"Do you have a point?" Savannah asks and she knows she's blushing, and she knows he's ridiculing her, though she manages to keep her voice level.

"Yes, I do. You've got everything in the world. So what the hell do you want from me that you can't find in Xanadu?"

"A future," John Henry says.

"I am man of the future," John Connor says and he tilts his head, charmingly. "Always running towards it."

The glass he is toying with glints and catches a fleck of light. It blinds her. She raises her right hand to shield her eyes.

She blinks and when she pulls her hand away she sees herself in the mirror behind him, as he must see her, swathed in a gown as crimson as blood, with a hand splayed against her collarbone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

_The serpent, meanwhile,_

_Sleeps his meal off in Paradise -_

_Smiling to hear_

_God's querulous calling._

Theology - Ted Hughes

* * *

Distractions. The music, the food, the room, they are all distractions. Even the woman, Savannah, is nothing but a trap to lull him. John Connor knows better, he looks at John Henry, who is speaking softly to Savannah, and raises his voice, shattering their whispers.

"I'd like to know what is the purpose of this meeting."

"Direct and to the point," John Henry says.

"I am a busy man."

John Connor grabs a knife and butters a dinner roll. Real cutlery and real food. The idea that there's cows and chickens and pigs inside Xanadu seems too mundane. He pictures every inch of it glimmering white, with peacocks walking by and behind the peacocks he can see _her_.

He's always had a thing for redheads.

"TDE," John Henry says, jolting him back to the dinning room.

The smirk on John Connor's face fades. Time Displacement Equipment. He knows what it is. He has never seen it, but it exists. Or it will exist. It is sometimes difficult to determine what is and what will be, to separate his destiny from reality.

TDE. It makes him think of Kyle, of his own father, who is so much in love with Allison. Kyle does not know that Allison will die. They'll never be together. In a way, John's life relies on the death of Allison. He knows that Kyle would never leave his Allison behind. She must die, and then, one day, Kyle will take on a suicide mission, travel to the past.

But there must be TDE first, something not within John Connor's grasp.

"Do I have your attention now?" John Henry says.

"What about TDE?" John Connor asks very slowly, very carefully.

"Xanadu's existence is a precarious balance between chaos and order. We stand at a knife's edge, one inch from the abyss. Yet we have survived, ensured our safety from a hostile outside world. However, it has not been without some compromises."

"What kind of compromises?"

"We have assisted Skynet in its chronoportation research."

"Time travel," John Connor says, spitting the words. "You have allowed them to time travel."

He clutches the silver knife sitting next to his plate; feels the desire to stab John Henry in the face and remove his synthetic eyes.

"And now we will allow _you_ to time travel, Mr. Connor."

"You want to share your research with me?"

"What I want," John Henry says "is for Xanadu to survive."

"So you're willing to help the enemy, then double-cross it and get in bed with the Resistance? No thanks buddy, I don't trust you."

John Connor rises, tosses the napkin that had been laying on his lap aside.

"You have no choice in the matter," Savannah says. "This is the way it's supposed to happened. It has been predestined."

Predestined. Such an ugly, large word. A curse he's never been able to shake off. If it had not been for his damn destiny he might have had some measure of happiness. Had Riley, who had loved and who he couldn't love back, fearful of the future glimmering in her eyes. Had a friendship with Kyle and Allison instead of wearily glancing at them, knowing the exact nature of their death.

Destiny.

"What do you know about destiny?" he asks her.

"I know enough," she says.

"Oh, yeah? What's your function? To serve as pawn of the machines? Right arm to our killers? To play the role of Judas?"

"To save all of us," she says with a finality that makes him pause. That pause allows John Henry the time he needs to speak.

"My existence is coming to an end. I will not function much longer," John Henry says.

_Good_, John Connor thinks. _Damn good._

"The research into chronoportation has ... exhausted much of me. It has also, naturally, taken its toll on Xanadu._"_

"What do you mean?"

"Xanadu is controlled by a network of neural computers. John Henry is part of that network." Savannah says. "It has been put under much tress due to the calculations necessary to achieve TDE. It has worn them – and John Henry – down. It is as though they've grown senile."

"So now, in his old age, John Henry sees the light and wishes to help the resistance fighters," John says sarcastically.

"Mr. Connor, when we began our research into TDE it became clear to me that chronoportation was not the answer to the problems plaguing us. Temporal displacement will merely serve to create paradoxes, tie and cut loose ends in the fabric of time. The resistance and Skynet will battle for an eternity, waging a fight that has no location, spread across years and decades, in the past and the future. A futile exercise."

"Then why offer us TDE technology?"

"Because you ought to have it. TDE will not win you your war, but it will give you an edge you do not possess. And because I need your help, Mr. Connor."

"Help how?"

"We can end this war."

He does not want to ask how. He does not want to know more. He wants to turn around and return to the bunker with Kyle and the others. He wants to see familiar faces, laugh with people who are flesh and blood instead of glimmering steel. Yet temptation curls in his belly.

"How exactly can we end the war?" he asks.

"Shiva," Savannah whispers, her voice so low it is like leaves brushing against the floor.

"What?"

"Shiva," she says and raises her eyes to him. "He wants you to protect Shiva."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown

The lion beat the unicorn all around the town.

Some gave them white bread, and some gave them brown;

Some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town.

- Children's rhyme

* * *

Shiva. The name is a bad omen. A portent of evil. John feels it.

"Come with us," John Henry says, rising and heading towards a door.

John Connor does not move. Not until Savannah walks. He follows her, then, after all.

They walk down a long hallway and into a white chamber. All color has ceased to exist, pale upon pale. The whiteness of it contrasts with Savannah's red gown.

John Henry presses a panel and a partition slides down revealing a large tank, filled with water. Inside it sleeps a child of two or three, floating, thumb in her mouth and eyes closed.

The sight of the child startles him.

"What is this?"

"In the old days men consulted oracles to predict their future," Savannah says. "Supplicants visited the oracle at Delphi on the seventh day of each month."

"Do you always speak in riddles?" he asks, tired of her soft voice and her poise.

"This is a modern-day oracle. Chronoportation is useless. You jump through time blindly, sweeping into the past, probably creating more paradoxes than anything else. But what if you could see the future, John? What if you could see the outcome of every battle? Measure the throw of each stone before you ever pick it? Then the machines would have much to fear, would they not? Past and future. To be able to dip your toes in the streams of time."

He tries to understand what she is telling him. If it is true, if it is like she told it, then this is the power of the gods. One could make and remake the fabric of reality.

"And why have you not put this oracle to use then?" he asks. "Why do you need me?"

"She is not yet born," John Henry says. "The neural network has not finalized weaving itself. You are looking at an embryo. Three more years, perhaps, and she may emerge from her cocoon. But we will not have three more years. Not when the machines crush Xanadu."

John looks carefully at the child. Short, soft red hair rises from her scalp.

"It is another type of machine," he says. "Another android."

"No," Savannah says. "Not chrome with a bio exoskeleton. An engineered human. Sequenced to think like a machine, with the capacity of a machine."

"A hybrid?" John asks in horror.

A Frankenstein's creature. A patched-up horror built with human DNA. Dreamt by machines. Machines creating organic matter. Perfecting it. Unleashing their horrors upon an unsuspecting world. They can detect the robots with their metallic skulls and bones, but what of this thing? Would it pass as human without a hitch?

Then another thought invades him: where does it come from?

"It has your hair," he says, turning towards Savannah. "Is this made with your tissue? Is this a clone?"

"It is my child."

"And you think I will help this…monster's spawn? Who is the father?" he asks chuckling. "Did you fuck a human or did you get one of the robots to do it?"

"Virgo intacta, Mr. Connor," John Henry says, placing his hands behind his back and looking at the child. "You have such stories, do you not? An angel descending from heaven and the maiden who gives birth to the savior. Even the tales of Merlin say a virgin gave birth to the wizard. You are entering the world of legends."

"Does that make me Arthur?"

"If you wish."

John sits down on the floor and laughs. He would cry if he could. It's a dark laughter, echoing in the white chamber.

"He is amused," Savannah tells John Henry.

The way she says it makes John raise his head and halts his laughter. She sounds offended. Disgusted. He imagines how he must look to her in this city of perfection where one can manufacture the work of angels: a pig, rolling in the mud.

But they need him. These spirits of the air need their Caliban.

"So, then I am to protect your Shiva until it can be born? With what army? Haven't you checked outside? We are being massacred. I have no time to play babysitter."

"You control a submarine," Savannah says.

He does. He controls a number of things, though it does not seem to do them much good. They are going to all die very soon, unless something changes the tide.

Chronoportation.

An oracle.

"What of it?"

"It would not be difficult for you to deliver us to Newfoundland."

"What would you do there?"

"There is an old research base. It should be in good shape. Shiva and I can hide there, until the time comes."

"And the machines will not find you?" John asks, sounding amused.

"We've foreseen it."

"How?"

"A message. From the future, of course. The future in which you help me."

"Then there is nothing I can do about it, hu?" he asks, grinning, teeth showing. "It's all been written in stone as usual. Sorry to break your tea party, but I am not helping you."

He storms out of the room. His boots echo heavily as he stomps through the corridor, thoughts dark. She hurries behind him. He hears the light footsteps as they approach and she touches his arm.

"John Connor," she says.

The fingers grip his sleeve and he turns, sliding her hand off him.

"What do you want?"

"In your message you insist…you say I will change your mind."

"Nothing you can say will change my mind. I leave in the morning. It was a mistake coming here."

"You cannot. It is foretold. We are children of prophecy. We are meant…"

He shoves her away. She loses her balance and falls. Savannah looks up at him in shock, her porcelain mask finally cracking and showing true emotion. Anger as she presses her hands against the floor.

He is glad he has hurt something beautiful, the same way the hunter rejoices when it has killed the unicorn.

He leaves before she can speak another word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Bonno kuno._

All lust is grief.

– Proverb

* * *

When John dreams of Riley his dreams are green and full of promise. When he dreams of Cameron they are tinted gray with ambivalence. When he dreams of Savannah that night his dream is red. She imagines her walking in the snow, wrapped in a parka, looking towards the sea.

When he wakes she is there, looking at him, and even in the semi-darkness of the room he can see the bright color of her hair.

One time he discovered Cameron staring at him while he slept it. Her face showed the confusion of an android who wonders why humans dream. Savannah looks at him like someone who wonders what he dreams.

"Come to kill me?" he asks her, his voice low as he sits up and waves his hand against the light switch, fully illuminating the room.

She is wearing a robe; more like a white kimono with a pattern of blue butterflies. It must be silk. Silk moths in Xanadu? Truly? Has it been stolen from some wreckage?

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it," she says, nonchalantly.

"My machine is next door," he says. "I could raise my voice..."

"My dogs are in the hallway. I could scream."

"If I let you scream."

"You underestimate me."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to get that. What are you doing here?"

Savannah sits down in a chair. As with everything else, she does this with grace, resting her hands gently on her lap.

"I cannot sleep," she says.

"Sorry. I'm all out of bedtime stories."

"Your contempt surprises me."

"I'm full of them," he says, his expression rough. "Surprises."

"When I was a child, I spent many a waking day awaiting you."

"What for?"

"My future," Savannah says. " I was told you'd be the one to take me away, to my destiny."

"To Newfoundland. Leave it alone, girl. Whatever brainwashing they've inflicted on you is not going to work on _me_."

"But you've always known you are special. "

Yeah. Since he could barely toddle around. John, you will be the leader of the Resistance. You will destroy the machines. Not a damn moment in his life when he was able to feel ordinary, to be just another kid. Nothing except a few brief, stolen minutes.

John Connor has never had any time to be anything but John Connor.

"I suppose you are special too," he mutters kicking the bedsheets and sitting at the edge of the bed, looking at her narrowly. "Whoever said I was going to come on a white steed and take you from your tower..."

"You told me. You sent a message. You said to wait for you."

"Not me," Connor says pressing a thumb against his chest. "Future John."

"You are Future John. Even now you know I am speaking the truth. You will agree because you must have TDE. Otherwise, you create a paradox that erases you."  
He feels like being erased. Sinking into nothingness. What does he have to look forward to? Nothing. He's never had anything. He is king of dust. Ruler of corpses.

"Fuck you," he says.

Savannah does not react. He looks at him and her face is impassive.

He approaches her, resting his hands on the arms of her chair and looking down at her.

"Get out."

"You don't intimidate me."

"Tough chick, hu?" he says with a sneer.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Enlighten me."

She shifts her head, looking directly into his eyes. There's strength there, beneath the soft lashes. She's human. She's also hard as diamonds. Not the steel of machines; she is the work of carbon atoms arranged in an unbreakable lattice.

"Your anger does not allow you to see clearly. When you let emotions dominate you, you cannot trace a clear vector. Fear can not provide answers. Why should I fear?"

"Then you simply wash away your fear?"

"To control is not to eliminate. It means to understand. I understand my fear and I am able to overcome it. Like this instant, I fear that you may strike me but that is only a visceral reaction brought on by your overt hostility and proximity. It has no rational source since I know you will not hurt me."

"That's putting a lot of faith on a hunch that is not based on fact," he whispers. "Because I could hurt you if I wanted to."

"Then hurt me now."

John balls his hand into a fist. He closes his eyes and thinks of striking that skin like porcelain.

His eyes snap open, he grabs Savannah by the collar of her robe, tilting her head back and kissing her. Her eyes are open, clear and shinny, like a piece of pottery. He can't tell what she's thinking.

"What game are you playing?" he whispers to her ear.

"It's not a game."

"Yeah, right."

"Even if it is, can the piece on the board demand that the player concede?" she asks, looking ahead, over his shoulder. "Once you've started The Immortal Game, then you must continue to play. There is no stopping. We have to see the other end of the board."

"You think you are smart."

"I am smart," she says raising her eyebrows, but still only showing him her profile. "I am the answer to you. Equations must be balanced. Surely you understand that."

John drums his fingers against her arm.

"You're the one underestimating me now."

He grabs her chin between his fingers and makes her look at him.

"If you leave now, I won't stop you," he tells her.

"Queen to Bishop 6. Check. What is your move, John Connor?"

He yanks Savannah to her feet and kisses her again. She closes her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

_Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?_

- Sun Tzu

* * *

She is humming. John leans on his elbow and watches the curve of her back.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Singing."

Singing. This is a novel situation. He's never had a girl sign after making love to him. Then again, these days you can hardly ask for much joy. Women come with scabs and lice, with caked dirt under their nails and misery sown onto their skins.

"Why?"

"Music is harmony."

"I don't like it."

She lays back and her red, red hair fans upon the pillow. Savannah looks at him. She runs a finger upon a scar marring his chest. Life has left its imprint on him.

"How did you get that?" she asks.

He doesn't bother answering her. She touches another, ugly jagged scar, this one running down his thigh. He can't see any blemishes upon her.

"And this?"

He still does not answer.

She turns her head to kiss him.

"Did they ask you to seduce me or was that your idea?" he whispers against her lips.

"Some people might say it was exactly the opposite."

"I wasn't the one who talked about games."

Savannah slides from the bed. She stands very still and thoughtful.

"When I was thirteen a messenger arrived in Xanadu. He brought a missive: John Connor will come to Xanadu and take you away, to a place of snow. And I was told to wait. So I have waited. I didn't move the first piece, you did."

"You are blaming it all on me."

"I remembered you differently."

He wants to laugh. What does she remember? A teenager, years gone? Some boy who spoke a few lines to a child?

She looks at him.

"I wanted to see you again," she says. "So I waited."

A bitter disappointment rushes through his veins. Disappointment and disgust at himself. He recalls the look of wonder in her eyes when he lay her upon the bed and the way she clutched him.

Well.

This is not his fault.

"You've seen me now," he mutters, fishing for his clothes.

"You'll really leave? Without helping me?"

"Yes! You think I want a part of this? You have a monster in a fish tank," he says pointing an accusing finger at her. "You play with time like its some stupid chess game."

"You are the one who plays with time."

"I did not invent TDE."

"This is your chance to make things right."

"Oh, and how will I do that? Say I get you a submarine. Say you get to Newfoundland and in three years time your oracle can predict the future. How long before it turns on humans? Have you considered that?"

"Is that what happened to you? You were betrayed?"

He's definitely not answering that question. John begins buttoning his shirt. This was foolish. He should have kicked her out when he had the chance.

"Who taught you everything you know about the machines? Who taught you how to fight?"

"My mother," he mutters gruffly.

"She taught you to hate the machines, didn't she?"

"I figured that one by myself."

"I will teach different lessons."

She settles a hand upon his shoulder.

"Do you really think I'd breed a monster? All I want is another beginning."

"And once Skynet is defeated, who gets to rule in this brave new world of yours?" he asks pulling her towards him, forcing her to sit down. "Your machines? Shiva? Is it you? You want me to crown you?"

He places his hands on her waist, then slides them down.

"Do I still get to fuck you once in a while after that? Is that my reward? I'll tell you, most whores come cheaper."

He grinds the words in his mouth and spits them out like needles. She looks down.

John enjoys this. Maidens should not expect to tussle with monsters and come out unscathed.

She won't sing songs to her lovers again.

"What? Cat got your tongue? No more smart lines for me?"

She is not looking at him.

"What?" he asks exasperated, pulling her face up.

There are tears in her eyes, but she does not accuse him.

John just feels tired. He's tired of running and fighting and thinking.

"Don't," he says, brushing her cheek.

At first she does not let him kiss her. Reluctantly, she arches into his body, curls her arms around his neck.

When he'd touched her before, he'd looked to hurt her. He'd held her too tight and rushed through the motions. He was greedy and did not care.

John wants to make it up to her. He doesn't even know why. He just wants to.

It's hard. It's been a long time since he's been kind. He kisses the corner of her mouth and she looks confused. He thinks he is looking at her as she really is, once the cold shields of courtesy and formality have been removed; the girl others do not see.

She smiles at him.

He shudders and allows himself to smile back, to let her see him without his armour, to drown away the reservations.

#

"I'll send word in a couple of weeks. You must be the at the rendezvous point or the submarine will leave," he tells her.

"What about the humans in Xanadu. There are three hundred people here."

John sighs. He doesn't know what he'll do with a convoy that size. He doesn't know where he'll put them or how he's going to explain this. He supposes the Resistance will be able to accept a few refugees in exchange for chronoportation.

"Our machines..."

"Stay behind," he mutters gruffly. "You can't ask me for that."

Savannah's head is tucked beneath his chin and he feels her hand upon his chest.

"You should not hate them."

"You'd hate them if you were me."

"Hate does not provide you with answers."

"Nothing provides answers," he says running his hand through her hair.

She looks at him with those thoughtful eyes of hers.

She has not asked the question, but he knows it's there.

_Why did you change your mind? _ If she asked him, he must admit it is mainly the selfish desire to have something beautiful. Something that is not spoiled by the world.

"I'll leave by nightfall," he says.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything._

- The Wizard of Oz

* * *

This is a city built on dreams. The dreams of a child. A collage of stories blended into something new. This is the city she constructed, together with John Henry and the others. She'll leave it soon, for different shores.

This is the man she dreamt of. He was made of half-remembered snippets. She did not recall the color of his eyes. She'll bid him goodbye, as soon as they reach the bottom of this hill.

This is the moment she's been reaching for her entire life. This is where she shall begin.

They've assured her, they've told her, she is the real savior.

If he will be the principle of death, then she will be the principle of life.

They walk side by side. She holds the dog's chain and looks ahead.

The sun is tumbling down.

She sings, in a voice that is a whisper.

_Is tric mi 'sealltainn o'n chnoc a's àirde_

_Dh'fheuch am faic mi fear a' bhàta_

_An tig thi an diùigh no'n tig thu a-màireach?_

_'S mur tig thu idir gur truagh a tà mi _

"What is that?" he asks.

Their shadows blend as they walk.

"Gaelic," she says. "My father sang songs like that to me. John, do you ever sing when no one listens?"

"No. There were no songs for me," he says firmly.

She feels sorry for him. Never having lullabies. She had songs. She had a father, for a short while. She had two mothers and John Henry. She had the domes of Xanadu and the never-ending spring of the greenhouse.

She tries to imagine what would have happened if their roles had been reversed. If she'd had the jagged, broken city and he a sanctuary.

Would she still sing, then?

They reach the bottom of the hill. She pulls out a slim, laquered box and hands it to him.

"The coordinates to one of Skynet's TDE laboratories are there. You will be able to overtake it, with the help of some of our soldiers. We are also providing you with plans to construct a new TDE and an engineer to build it. You will have everything you need to handle chronoportation," she says. "In thirty days, when Skynet learns of this, it will destroy Xanadu. I must be gone by then."

John grabs the box and stuffs it in his pocket.

"Don't worry. I'll see to it."

"You must not try to reach me. My team will take care of our needs. In three years, once Shiva awakes, we will message you."

"If you attempt to double-cross me you will pay for it," he says in a low voice. "I don't care where you are, I will find you."

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"I can't know that, can I?"

Savannah reaches for her sleeve and pulls out the little poisoned pin. She hands it to him, carefully placing it on the palm of his hand.

"Synthetic tetrodotoxin," she says, lowering her eyes. "It causes paralysis and respiratory failure. It would have killed you in a matter of minutes. I had it with me. All of the time. I could have accomplished what all those Terminator units never managed."

Savannah raises her eyes, staring into his shocked face.

"I did not."

"I suppose I should be thankful."

He says it, but does not sound so pleased.

"Do you know if we'll meet again?" he asks.

She kicks a pebble.

"I was not told."

She's glad she does not know. She does not want to wait again. Though perhaps she might go to the shore on certain days, to watch the clouds go by.

Only once in a while.

"Take care," he says.

There is no lingering kiss, no embrace nor shake of hands. Silence parts them and stands between them. He simply walks away.

She watches him leave and leans down, rubbing the dog's head. She wishes he'd turn back to look at her.

He does not.

Eventually, night falls and Savannah heads back home.

#

When John dreams of Riley his dreams are green and full of promise. When he dreams of Cameron they are tinted gray with ambivalence.

Lately his dreams are red. He imagines a woman walking in the snow, wrapped in a parka, looking towards the sea.

He stands with his eyes to the east, staring in the opposite direction.

And then he turns to gaze at her, the girl with hair like a flame.

The End

* * *

Note: I apologize for not finishing this fic sooner. I began it before season 2 of the show ended, so it does not follow the show's end-of-season cannon. Well, at least it is done now. Hope you enjoyed it!


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